Lynda Plante: The Talisman

‘My father was Freedom Stubbs.’

She shrugged, and if she knew the name she gave no hint of recognition. ‘Why you come here? What you want?’

Alex tried to explain, feeling helplessly inadequate and near to breaking point, the tears constantly prickling his eyes. In a halting voice he told her of his father, of Edward. Then he put his head in his hands and wept, unashamedly.

‘I always believed Edward was a lucky man, just a lucky man, but now I don’t know. It’s as if he’s still alive, but turning everything rotten. I don’t know if it’s his face I see or my father’s, but I can’t sleep...’

‘He’s haunting you, is that it?’

The relief that she said it so simply was astonishing, and he nodded, licking his lips. He reached out to hold her hand.

‘Yes, yes, that’s it exactly, but I can’t tell anyone, they’d think me crazy. I feel him around me all the time... I’m a rich man, I’ll give you anything you ask if you can help me.’

She held his hand, looking into his face, then she touched his forehead. ‘You got the Romany blood in you. You get us a decent camp, mun. You get us moved to a decent place.’

‘I’ll do whatever is in my power to help you, I give you my word.’

She released his hand and settled back in her chair. ‘You have something of his with you?’

He shook his head, then he remembered. He loosened his tie, unbuttoned his collar, and took off the gold medallion.

Evelyn Barkley returned to Wales to discover more of his background. When he learned of the Barkley Company’s losses, he wrote to Juliana with permission to sell the manor and all its contents. The land alone would be worth a quarter of a million on the property market.

No one had entered the manor since the reading of the late Edward Barkley’s will. The house was in a state of ruin; during the hurricane of November 1987, a tree had crashed through the south end of the roof.

Juliana began to check the house for items that could be auctioned. Intent on her work, she remained until evening. As it grew dark she tried the light switches, but the electricity had been cut off, so she fetched a candle from the kitchen.

As she passed through the hall she noticed the door to the dining room was slightly ajar, and she paused a moment, feeling drawn to the room.

Her father’s portrait faced her. Water had seeped through the ceiling and run down the gilt frame. It had dripped down his cheeks, leaving stains that looked like tears. She stood looking up into her father’s face, without fear, without hatred.

Putting the candle down, she made a note of the table and the ornate chairs, then opened a large Victorian dresser. She added the solid silver cutlery to the inventory and bent to open the lower drawers, where she found silver serving dishes, wrapped in damp newspaper that was yellow with age. At ten-fifteen she paused. The candle was burning low and she was uncertain whether or not to continue, but there was only the drawing room left.

Shielding the candle flame, she inched open the heavy double doors into the room. The room had been left untouched with the ashes of a fire still in the grate.

There was writing, still legible, scrawled on a window overlooking the river: ‘My son, my son Evelyn’. The candle flame flickered and sputtered. Above the mantelpiece, in the centre of the dark-edged space where the mirror had hung, was a strange, red-brown stain that resembled a necklace. The room felt icy cold and Juliana shivered, almost dropping the candle in fright when she heard footsteps, slow footsteps... She turned in terror as the door creaked open.

‘Oh, God, Alex, you almost gave me a heart attack! Why didn’t you call out? This is the last room, I’ve done all the others. I’m afraid there’s not much worth selling, but at least we’ll get a good price for the land. They can build a tower block of apartments, great view over the river. I reckon we can ask more than we... Alex?’

He was standing directly in front of the fireplace, staring at the stain on the wall. Fishing a box of matches from his pocket he struck one, held it above his head. ‘It’s like my mother’s necklace, the shape.’

‘I suppose it must be water, every room’s got water stains. Anything worth selling has been ruined.’

Alex still stared at the stained wall.

‘He took it from her grave, he should never have done that. He had the medallions made from the gold. What did you do with Edward’s?’

Juliana was bending to peer into a glass cabinet filled with ornaments. ‘These are junk — what did you say?’

‘The medallion I gave you, the gold medallion.’

‘Well, funnily enough I wear it. You always said my father had the Midas touch, I thought it would bring me luck. How wrong can one be? Right now our luck’s running out so fast...’

Alex took his own chain from his pocket and walked over to her. ‘Give it to me, take the damned thing off. Take it off!’

She backed away from him, her hand to her throat. ‘Don’t be stupid, Alex... The candle, mind the candle!’

The stub of the candle rolled across the floor, spilling its wax, but he ignored it. He held out his hand for the medallion as she unclasped it from her neck. When he looked again, the candle was lying against the side of the sofa, still alight. He picked it up and walked out of the room, calling for her to follow.

In the hall were three cans of petrol. ‘Start in the master bedroom, pour it over everything. I’ll begin down here. We’ve got to set light to the place, it’s got to burn down.’

‘Are you crazy? What about the silver, the furniture?’

He had already opened one of the cans. ‘Everything worth anything must burn.’

‘Why? Insurance? Is that what all this is about, insurance?’

Alex was pouring petrol along the hallway. He pushed open the door to the dining room, splashing the strong-smelling liquid everywhere.

‘Alex, answer me. Are you doing this for the insurance?’

‘No, but the flames will take away his evil, and they’ll scorch his pain... We’re burying a curse. Think me crazy, think whatever you like, but don’t try to stop me.’

She stood watching him, helplessly, as he emptied the can of petrol. Tossing the can aside, he held out his hand to her, looking up at Edward’s portrait. ‘Come here, it’s all right. Look at his face, his eyes... Same eyes as my father, Romany eyes — black eyes that never let you know what’s behind them, what they’re thinking.’

Standing a little distance from Alex, she looked up at her father’s face, then turned. Alex seemed transfixed by the painting, and she looked again. Her father’s eyes seemed alive, the water-stain tears distorting his face. When Alex spoke she could barely hear him.

‘I never noticed before, but you can see it in his face. He did a terrible thing, it wasn’t premeditated, but it was done in terrible anger. Long, long ago he killed your grandfather, my father... His name was Freedom, Freedom Stubbs. The name engraved on the medallions is our real name. Edward changed it to Barkley, but Freedom wouldn’t let him go — he couldn’t, because the gold in the medallions was taken from the grave. I don’t think he even knew what he had done — the gold was Freedom’s talisman.’ Alex paused, closed his eyes. ‘We were brothers, but only Edward inherited the powers, and I believed he was haunting me, trying to destroy me from the grave. But I was wrong — he’s warning me, for Evelyn’s sake, for his son. Edward was cursed, and it will pass to Evelyn.’ He held up the two gold medallions and repeated the last lines of the Romany curse: